


that almost between our lips

by purqatory



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purqatory/pseuds/purqatory
Summary: she was the reminder that made him realise life was worth living. he says her name and her whole sky spirals into an inferno.[dramione one shots... that were posted on ff.net so this is just that collection, butthe ones i don't hate]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 21





	1. greek mythology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco suddenly couldn't think of any reason to be in a hurry.  
> (modern au!; the bookstore trope!)

" _ **Um**_ , Miss? The store is closing in five minutes." He put the pile of misplaced books into the circle of his other arm while he reached over through the empty slot in the World Politics shelf. His fingers only managed to graze the girl's shoulder before she was startled and jerked away, her book nearly falling from her hands.

Draco cursed, curling his hand into a fist, "Shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you-"

"Sorry! I didn't hear you." Her cheeks were getting pink as she waved the book, with her fingers stuck in the end as a bookmark. "I'm nearly done with this."

His brow wrinkled. He was already overtiming for thirty minutes, and he was late for the dinner with his parents. It was in one of those smart restaurants, and he was in a hurry to get his pressed suit from the dry cleaners. But he sighed, "It's fine. I will clock out first and wait for you to finish."

She smiled, her front teeth scratching her lower lip. "Thanks. Thanks so much."

Draco nodded once, put the books he was going to re-stack on the empty shelf, and headed to the back of the store to get his things. He would just have to arrive earlier the next morning to put them back in place. It was fine. He understood how she didn't want to leave that book behind. It was a good book, a new best-seller about how future foreign politics would be moulding the international system, and he had finished a copy in one setting a few days ago.

By the time he put on his leather jacket, donned his backpack and shut the office door behind him, the girl was nowhere in sight. The book- _her book_ \- was back on the new-comer seat, and the pile under it straightened. His eyebrow went up: _she could have said good-bye_.

"Hey, a little help here?" The girl's voice came from the back of his head and Draco turned to witness her on the top of the stepping stool, her arm stretched as far as it could, trying to put _Hellen of Troy, A Biography_ into its place.

The way her long legs were resting on the tip of her toes and a hint of midriff was exposed from her sweater had him going up to her and grinning: "Is the view nice up there?"

She huffed and stood back on the heels of her feet. "I know I'm short, but I'm trying to put your pile of books back, so please do help me. It's the last one."

Draco suddenly couldn't think of any reason to be in a hurry; he rested his arms on the support of the stool. "I didn't know you had the store memorised enough to know which belongs where."

"It's basic genre-sorting." She replied dismissively, a finger brushing along the spine of the mythology book, "This is my favorite genre, so I'm pretty familiar with the usual types of books stores are selling."

Draco wanted to laugh out loud at how serious she was sounding, how her smooth forehead had crinkled up as she appraised the synopsis of the book on its back, and how he was certain he didn't have to double-check if everything was back into their place. "Your favorite is greek mythology and its biographies? I would have thought Austen or something with cats in it."

"I loves cats, but I won't necessary want to spend time reading about them." The girl decided that he wasn't going to help any time soon, and she sat down with the book in her lap. "And what's wrong with Greek gods and goddesses?"

"Nothing. I think I know why, and I have a hunch." Draco rested his jaw on his folding hands over the railing. The girl's bushy hair brushed against his sleeves as she twisted her body sideways to retort, "Oh, really? Let's hear it, then."

"You are either named after a goddess, or you are interested in picking name for a potential cat as your new pet."

Her eyes seemed to twinkle under the lights, and they were brown and then they were bronze with flicks of amber. "Name. Not exactly qualified, but close. And no, I'm not getting a cat anytime soon."

"Ah-ha. So I'm right on the first account. Consequently, you should give me your name as my reward."

"You give me yours first." Her hand was resting against his, and he didn't think she noticed that she was leaning closer, and he couldn't find the will to back away. "And don't tell me it's _Sparta_ , because I will laugh."

"Do you think I would still be here talking to you if my name is Sparta? No offence to anyone who is named after the guy. I am feeling sorry for him." She pressed her lips together with her fingers to fight back a laugh, and he wished that she didn't.

"Draco. I'm Draco."

"Like the constellation? That's… that's pretty. And it kind of suits your hair." She pointed, and then put her fingers back over her mouth.

Draco run a hand consciously over his head. He didn't really liked his hair, but no hair dye ever really set well with his stupid pale complexion. "Thanks, I guess… Miss _Stalling Until He Forgets To Ask Your Name_."

Now she couldn't stop herself from laughing and Draco couldn't stop himself from staring at the apples of her cheeks and how her cheekbones stood out when she grinned. "… It's Hermione. Mystical but not yet a goddess."

Her wild hair, the bow of her mouth, the freckles on her cheeks, her slim jawline- her name suited her like nothing else in comparison. She was mystical to him, because she had stayed to re-shelf the books he was going to, proud and a bit snooty in the way he found it amusing because it was directed from her love for books, breathed through books not many actually would read through and she _liked_ the abomination of his hair. "Well, you are. To me, that is."

 _Hermione_ covered the lower half of her face with the book still in her hands."How many times did you use that on a girl?" That arch of her eyebrow could be a reflection of his own, which made him grin even harder.

"Well, I've never meet anyone would is named Hermione. So rest assured, you are the only one." His eyes fastened onto hers, grey and brown, unwavering, like the shell over a pearl, protecting the most vulnerable yet treasurable object against the crashing waves of the ocean.


	2. that ring finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo's ring gave a slight ting as he tightened his grip on his tumbler. "For all that's good."
> 
> [w/ Theo Nott/Luna Lovegood]

" ** _That's_** your last glass of champagne."

"Yes, obviously," Draco drained the flute of bubbly in one gulp, "I know you've been Disguising Firewhiskey with fucking sparkling water the whole night."

"It's necessary," Theo shrugged, raising his tumbler to his lips and taking a gulp, "Luna wants me sober when we Apparate to Ireland."

Draco shook his head and rolled the thin glass stem in between his fingers, the perspiration from the chilled drink lingered, "I can't believe you are going to Ireland for your honeymoon."

Theo looked over at his companion, and followed his gaze across the ballroom. "I can't believe you eloped without telling me."  
Just as expected, his oldest friend stiffened. "… What gave us away?"

Theo glanced down at the flute in Draco's hand, "You kept rubbing against your ring finger as if it was an itch that never could go away. You have a chain around your neck, and I've never seen you wear anything but your signet." He gestured towards the group of witches in the room with his alcohol, "And Granger is practically _glowing_."

" _Malfoy_."

His automatic correction had Theo's mouth lifting at the corner. "I'm happy for you."

Draco opened his mouth, but gratefully allowed the interruption from the passing waiter with whiskey so to gather what he was going to say.

Hermione wanted it to remain a secret: _fuck_ , he had to watch his new wife go through the Floo with that breathtaking midnight-blue gown without her arm in his; his bare left hand felt out of place without their simple platinum wedding bands. The only interaction for the couple on that day was when the minister announced Luna as a Nott that his witch had given him a secret smile, tugged at her chain and pressed her fingers against her lips.

"You knew how much I wanted this. You knew how much I needed this, and you definitely knew how scared I was that this wouldn't work." His fingers grazed his chain now with the kind of anxiety that wine couldn't seem to sooth, "She's head-strong and stubborn, and she would want to fight against the world so that I could raise my head to be the husband she deserves. She's scared for me: she thinks I'm not ready, but it's …"

"It's your battle in the end." Theo echoed, remembering having that conversation three weeks ago.

"I'm grateful," Draco's jaw tightened, his eyes on the ambers of the drink in his hand, "that she understands me enough, that she is patient enough to start our lives together when I'm still playing catch up."

Theo felt the same emotion that Draco was feeling as both of them watched their wives in the midst of the guests: two vibrant, graceful and magnificent women, bracing against justified reservations for 'reformed' criminals, had accepted their own promises of giving them full lives with all the love both men could muster, and expect nothing in return but simply let both Theo and Draco hang on for dear life.

Theo raised his drink and tapped it lightly to his friend's, "I'm grateful: for I was fortunate enough to be granted second chances to fight for what is right."

Draco's thumbnail scratched at the slight indentation on his fourth finger. "For all that's worthy."

Theo's ring gave a slight _ting_ as he tightened his grip on his tumbler. "For all that's good." They drank, and it wasn't just their throat that ached in _this_ good way they wanted to get used to.


	3. little do you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turned and walked away before he would not stop himself from kissing her mouth.
> 
> (canon divergence; hogwarts!au)

**1.**

_**They**_ ran into each other at the far corner of the library. Her books scattered down on their feet and her forehead chafed his jaw.  
 _Shit, I'm sorry… Malfoy.  
I know you like books, but look up once in a while, would you?  
I said I was sorry.  
I heard you. And I take it the apology doesn't apply to my nose?_  
He kneeled and picked up her things; her face heated as she accepted from his offering hand.  
He remained crouched when she did not look back.

**2.**

She approached him and when he didn't look up from her pulling the opposite chair out and took the seat.  
He spoke when she was opening her bag and leafing through for her quill.  
 _Have you started the Charms essay?  
If you mean by having an outline and some books on hand, then, yes.  
Good. What texts would you recommend? _  
She was distracted by how the scratching of both their quills seamlessly synchronised.

**3.**

He took the badge out of the lapel of his robes and stuffed it into his trouser pocket before coming up to her.  
She pretended she didn't bother noticing him.  
 _How was your summer?  
It's a few months and a Triwizard Tournament into the school year, and you are only asking me now?  
I wasn't - there wasn't- I couldn't find the window. And you are always at Potter's side.  
He's being forced into the Tournament! I'm helping him!  
And I'm not even ridiculing you for that!_  
He turned and walked away before he would not stop himself from kissing her mouth.

**4.**

Her lips shoved back the words he was meant to say, so he complied, backing her up against the table, and clutched at the top of her stocking knees. Her hands travelled up the valley of his shoulders and creased his dress robes reaching for his hair.  
 _A Beauxbaton doesn't really suit me at all, it turns out.  
Dark blue suits you.  
And I'm certain clothes doesn't really suits you.  
You, too. _  
They soon learned it was easy to forget anything else when they could feel everything just by matching their skin together.

**5.**

He pushed against her shoulder and she dropped her book bag. She glared up at him, enough to raise the tension and students around them fled the scene muttering about her impending death sentence; he smirked and crossed his arms as a challenge.  
 _Look who it is, member of the_ Inquisitive _Squad._  
 _Very funny:_ Inquisitorial _, Granger._  
 _Potato, potatoe._  
 _Stow your grin away, you minx. Umbridge is on to you. Why are you running around the school during study hours?_  
 _The less you know, the better._  
 _I'm serious: keep out of trouble. I don't want to catch you in the act._  
 _… We both know where we stand._  
He took her jaw in his hand before she could push them further away.

**6.**

His thumbs pressed against his temples and his fingers were laced and obstructed his eyes from her. He was shaking and she only allowed her fingers to graze across his back.  
 _You know, what…_ angers _me the most is that I didn't hear this from my mother.  
Maybe she wasn't informed.  
Maybe she thinks she could hide it from me. Or maybe she thinks _he _won't bloody get caught.  
I'm sorry. We- we thought they had Sirius._  
She withdrew and made to leave, but he tugged her back into him and placed his hand over the side of her stomach.  
 _I love you more because of your scar, you know._

**7.**

_I don't need to know anything, Malfoy. I don't even know what to say.  
Tell me I have a choice. Tell me there's a way out of this. Tell me you won't ever look at me like you are now again.  
Why do you want me to lie?_

**8.**

_…_ _which hurt more?  
Who knew you could be this cruel, Granger?_

**9.**

He stared at her hands reaching in from the bars as if it was a viper poised for attack. He let her take his hands anyway, since it was going to be a while before anyone would voluntarily come close to him and not hit him across his face.  
 _I'm sorry.  
We just keep apologising to each other, do we?  
At least there's _us _.  
Don't wait. Just… you can't.  
No, this time it's you. Just don't go anywhere, all right?_  
He could have been lost for three years, but she found him again in a month.

**10.**

The steam from the blasting shower was smothering. He didn't hear her come into the shower and he staggered into the shower rack, bottles skidding over the wet floor. Her fingers dragged his damp hair over his forehead.  
 _Sorry. Just thought you want someone to scrub your back.  
Did I wake you?  
No, I couldn't sleep.  
Sorry._  
 _This_. It pained him to touch that fucking word on her skin. _Everything_.  
One hand covered his arm with the other to lessen the hot water, she whispered the truth against his lips: _This will hurt less because we are together_.


	4. the devil's advocate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Pride jar! One Galleon! Put it-"
> 
> (eighth year au; ron weasley/pansy parkinson)
> 
> [does anyone remember the period where the dhr meme was exasperated!blaise?]

_**Saturday**_ afternoons were Blaise's favorite day of the week. Mondays to Fridays were pure torture and the influx of reasons to have headaches even during bloody lunch could push a man into doing things he would never have condoned.

The first example on the top of his aching skull; being guilt-tripped into joining a study session with Granger in the library, and stayed when Granger had nonchalantly invited Draco: that was two months ago. Another example was allowing himself to be dragged along for a ' _this is not a date!_ ' to Hogsmeade and becoming the third-wheel that was given sympathetic looks after surveying the _'I hate this!' 'I hate you, more.' 'I hate you first!'_ duo. And the latest reason for a migraine: finally giving in and giving bloody Granger the password to the Slytherin dungeons just to stop her from hanging on his coat-tails and acting all chummy when she didn't really mean it. Alright, she really _meant_ it, but a Zabini would never permit himself to be a vessel for a way out of sexual tension.

That was three weeks ago and he was regretting it ever since. That - _witch_ was everywhere, investing the air with her lily hand lotion and he swore to Salazar if he found any more strands of hair in between the lining of cushions or the arms of the chairs, he would-

 _It was Saturday, and you are all alone in the common room, with_ War and Peace _, and they are serving steak and kidney pie later for dinner, so all is well._ Blaise inhaled deeply with his eyes closed, and shook his shoulders free. _Calm. Zen. Or any of those bull-_

"Fucking hell, Granger! I told you! Twice clock-wise and thrice anti-clock wise!"

"No, the book said the opposite and I'm doing the opposite! What are you-"

"The fucking carpet, that's what! It's corroding-"

"For Godric's sake-"

"Pride jar! One Galleon! Put it-"

"Shut up and help me wipe this off-"

"Wipe? Are you a witch or not- fuck, did you just hit me with-"

"I can hit you with anything I want to-"

"Woman, I'm not your fucking pet-"

"I wouldn't want a ferret as-"

"Get out of my room! I need to get-"

"Oh, no, you don't, Malfoy-"

Blaise turned his eyes towards the ceiling instead of the incoming couple; the whiff of singed powdered horn and the faint sizzling of a cooling potion could be heard from Draco's room. Blaise didn't know whether he should be grateful that the pair was not naked or not: maybe that would stop the angry snarls cleverly (in their opinion, obviously) disguising their version of a three-months-and-ongoing so-called _annoying the shit out of each other/ I just can't stand her/him!_ cycle.

Blaise surveyed them over the top of his book, crooking an eyebrow. "Draco, _mate_ , do we have to talk about how your downstairs is being very uncomfortable there, and frankly, I'm uncomfortable as to know that fighting with a Gryffindor turns you on: you should be the one to put _your_ family fortune into the House Pride jar." Without wasting a breath to smirk at his housemate's shock of realization, he turned towards the witch who was definitely not from their house, despite the green patches of potion across her white blouse: "And you, Granger. One Galleon for your _Godric_ exclamation, and if you wish to stop contributing your money into our graduation trip, the next name you'd better be screaming is Malfoy's."

Blaise picked up his wand as they simultaneously opened their mouths, and casted a _Silencio_ to the pair. "This is my last warning: either kiss, or get the fuck out of my sight."

Blaise was about to bet the rest of his sorry inheritance that there would be more shuffling and pushing against the shoulders, elbow-poking, belt-pulling, and his personal favorite, tie-tugging, but- Granger clasped Draco's up-turned collar and yanked him down to her for a snog that would surely haunt Blaise once again during their wedding. His best mate was as a slow as Slughorn realizing he was cheating off Granger for half the year, but he managed to grasp on the top of her arms before Granger pushed away and skidded out of the room as quickly as Blaise would have preferred her to on the first day she was allowed in.

That moron just stood there as if his first kiss was stolen and gaped at Blaise instead, and Blaise stared blankly back, his wand pointing to the direction where the girl went. Who knew Draco Malfoy could make a comical exit pathetic as he darted out and Blaise muttered out a synonym of a feline as the door of the common room slammed shut behind said described.

Blaise waited a good five minutes for the universe to defy his one good day in the week, and after three more cycle of breathing exercise that could prevent his eye from twitching too much, he settled back into the sofa and propped his book back over his chest.

"Pansy, I swear to _Merlin_ -"

"Weasley, I would not permit myself to be compared to Brown of all-"

" _Oh, for fuck's sake!_ "


	5. i'll be waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He asked himself whether the shade of her hair was auburn that morning.  
> (order!draco)

_**Hour One** _

She could feel her heart in her throat, suffocating her, spreading the fire into the depths of her lungs.  
She wasted her breath yelling his name.

**_Hour Three_ **

He dodged the green flash, but his waist took the blunt of the blue. He landed hard on the ground, and a crack resonated through his ringing ears like the snap of a chestnut.  
He asked himself whether the shade of her hair was auburn that morning.

**_Hour Five_ **

_Harry, Harry, Harry!  
Ron! Ron, Ron, Ron._

**Hour Five**

_Tonks, Lupin's down. Get him out. Tonks! Just get the fuck out of here!_

**_Hour Seven_ **

Half of her braid was seared off and it was all she could think about. Her wand was still in her hand, but it was slipping quickly from her fingers because of all the potion spilt across the floor. Glass sunk along her spine as she scooted backwards, away, away.  
Then she was mesmerised just how familiar her hunter brandished her wand about.

**_Hour Eight_ **

Protocols be damned. He didn't care.  
He hauled Weasley up, shoved his wand in his pocket and attached the Portkey into his limp hand. There was no urge to go with him while she was out there somewhere.  
He turned after he was sure Weasley was gone.

**_Hour Nine_ **

_When this is all over…  
What makes you think it would ever end?  
And here I thought I was the pessimist.  
Realist.  
I can't argue with that.  
You will come back?  
Yes. Where else would I go?_

**_Hour Eleven_ **

_I shouldn't even be here: you started it first.  
I was just stating the obvious: this plan is fucking stupid.  
Language, Malfoy. Have some respect.  
You know it's true. I don't want anyone else to die.  
… we won't.  
We? Thanks for that.  
Shut up. I don't want you to die.  
Stop trying to convince yourself.  
Shut up, Malfoy. Just… come here._

**_Hour Twelve_ **

She didn't know how she left the classroom but she did. She couldn't feel her right arm but she could use from her elbow up to stop the bleeding. She was dizzy, everything was spinning.  
A flash of white finally blinded her.

**_Hour Fifteen_ **

They were all sheep raised for slaughter: what the old generation couldn't fix was bestowed upon the young the minute they were born. He was not the only one who stood and stared as Potter and Riddle circled each other, a decade-old dance. He tightened his own wand and gave his fate to whomever was still listening: he did his part, now he had nothing else to give.

**_Hour Sixteen_ **

Whenever she breathes, the debris stab at her holey shirt, and everything just itches even more.  
She wanted the itch to stop more than the pain.

**_Hour Seventeen_ **

If they were not hugging him so tightly his ribs would shatter, he wouldn't have recognised his parents. They held him even tighter, and he almost forgot who he was.

**_Hour Eighteen_ **

She saw mist formulated and solidify, and then the wasps of smoke disappeared. She thought she saw shadows of those she had known, and she smiled.

**_Hour Twenty_ **

"Do you trust Kingsley?"  
"I trust him enough. Are they all rounded up?"  
"Hardly. Half of our team is chasing their tails as we speak."  
"Our team?"  
"Shut up, Potter. You already have my wand."

**_Hour Twenty-One_ **

It was impulse that made her want to tell Neville his parents would be proud. It was also why she impulsively closed her eyes. She was safe.

**_Hour Twenty-Two_ **

He staggered up the staircase and came face-to-face with the Patil twins.  
His nails pierced his palms.

**_Hour Twenty-Three_ **

_Wait_. A four-letter word that could never rival _Hope_ , or _Love_ , or _Hold_ , or _Home_.  
 _Dies_ triumphs all.

**_Day Zero_ **

_Gone._


	6. the auror manual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exasperated and looking for a distraction, Draco picked her fingers up and nuzzled her perfume-lingering wrist, "It's just the training manual, not your nine-hundred Galleon Elf Rights manuscript."
> 
> (auror!draco; law enforcement!hermione)

**_The_** bed dipped as he turned another page. The cool autumn air hit his lower abdomen as she slid in the warm sheets, and he merely flinched when she layered her icy feet between his calves. He could hear the static bristling through her hair as she tied it into a braid but he just grunted, thumbing the rest of the pages to tell her it would take another while.

He lifted up his arm as he continued to ponder the line: ' _…invisibility cloaks are preferred but are hard to come by…_ ' and let Hermione press a kiss into his neck and nestle on his chest. "Did you know there are only ten ways to Track in training?"

"Twelve. I know a few more but it's Muggle methods so I don't know if that would count as cheating."

Hermione could practically tell where his eyes were burning holes in: "He would sneak it in, but I don't think he would be allowed to bring his Cloak to training."

"To gloat, most likely." He scoffed, and moved forward, still a hint disgruntled.

"Win some, lose some," Hermione rolled her eyes as she anticipated her best friend's whine of betrayal, "He was complaining he was going to fail his stealth class during dinner tonight."

Draco gave a short laugh. "One down, fourteen more to go."

"Don't you get cocky."

"It's reassurance. I am too nervous to get cocky." He sobered up as he reached the _Concealment and Disguise_ chapter.

Hermione put a finger on the end of the spine. "Don't bent the corners."

Exasperated and looking for a distraction, Draco picked her fingers up and nuzzled her vanilla-moisturized wrist, "It's just the training manual, not your nine-hundred Galleon Elf Rights manuscript."

She pinched his angled chin. "Oh, give it a rest. It is worth more than three-hundred Galleons and you know it."

Draco took her chin and gave a chiseled kiss on her mouth. "I know it." Hermione used the leverage to close the dog-eared book, but he pulled back with a sigh.

"Draco, it's three in the morning. Time for bed."

He started cracking the knuckles of his free hand. "Five minutes."

"It was five minutes five hours ago."

He glanced up and caught the time, and then the bruises under her eyes. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. But you need the rest; get up earlier tomorrow to read over that during breakfast. I will quiz you if you want."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he let Hermione take the book from his hand and put it on the bed table at her side. "Have you read through this whole manual before?"

"Of course. I would like to know just what my boyfriend and my best friends are getting themselves into for the next three years."

"Extra reading materials." Draco muttered under his breath but Hermione ignored him.

"You'll be fine. The worst is over." He didn't mind that she was being blunt because in theory, it was: no wizard with a criminal record had ever been even considered to join the program, let alone a former Death Eater; he scooped her back into his arms to soften the guilt in her eyes, and flickered the lights dim.

He slowed his twitching leg down. "It's my nerves. I will work hard to prove to them-"

Hermione shut him up with her lips. "I have faith in you."

"That's all it matters." He agreed, and ducked down lower to reach her neck.

"Draco, bed." She protested, but her hands in his hair taunted him on.

His razor-sharp smile glinted off the dimming light. "Five more minutes."


	7. after practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew she was not the only controlling freak of nature in wizardry existence?
> 
> (quidditch!draco _just because_ )

**_Hermione_** retrieved the hand that dangled over the lip of the tub to stay dry for turning pages and ran a finger down the paragraph, and unwinding her wand from the bun of her hair and tucked it between the chapter. She placed her book and wand to the high chair next to the claw tub; she was meant to wash her hair anyway, so she let her locks fall over her chest and into the scented lukewarm bathwater. The water rippled as she inhaled deep, and submerged her head along with her Arithmancy-filled mind below docks.

Sounds muffled under water, movement became lucid, brainwaves turned stagnant. She knew she shouldn't be pushing herself so hard with schoolwork. She knew she shouldn't try to continue framing three long essays the size of what her parents' thesis had been worth. She knew she shouldn't think that her best friends would bother writing to her when they were busy with Auror training and joke-shop running. She knew she shouldn't boss the Prefects around and have them look at her as if the Head Girl was a chicken with its head cut off. She knew she shouldn't often get into verbal-sparring with _Draco Malfoy_ just for the kicks. She knew. _She knew_.

She also knew that a certain House team's Quidditch practice was done ten minutes ago and someone certainly was not expecting the bathroom being occupied because it wasn't in their compromised schedule. _Who knew she was not the only controlling freak of nature in wizardry existence? Why can't she have a bath at 11p.m. anyway?_

Hermione broke the surface of the bath early just so the water could calm before he would barge in. She left only her chin up above water, and only her eyes and the top of her head would be seen if he had anticipated her ' _violating his bath schedule_ ' at the first place.

Draco Malfoy came into the room five seconds later, growling under his breath, his fingers fussing over his left elbow patch, his tongue poking out from his mouth at the corner in concentration. His fringe was matted to his forehead and at the back of his head, hair was sticking up all over the place as if the wind had caressed through his hair and loved the process.

Hermione couldn't help it: she bit down on the pad of her finger as she blatantly stared at him from head to toe. If anyone could carry the Slytherin emerald green, it was him. If anyone could carry the Slytherin Quidditch uniform, oh, it was definitely him; she wouldn't even be biased at her measurements: she briefly had a fling with a Bulgarian Quidditch stud, and her best friends were previously on the team. That man, even when he was struggling under his breath to free his shins from the protective gear, came out on top.

She was torn as to what emotions to bring out at his not-really-seduction with undressing. Gone was the graceful snot that was her stupid room-mate; she flattened her lips when he out-rightly cursed when his aching limbs couldn't reach the back of his chest piece. The whole situation was silly, she would admit, hiding naked just so she could have seats to the show her still-unsuspecting roommate was giving. But she had to rest her head quietly and gnaw on her fingernail when the show finally stopped being… _ungraceful_.

With the leather gear on the floor like confetti, and his cape tossed over his shoulders into a pool of silver, she could appreciate how the green uniform clung to him like second skin. Her pursed lips rose to the side as his flexing forearms clutched his biceps in, and her stare had to go down over his stomach to his behind, clad in those tight Quidditch pants.

Mind you, she still hated the sport, but as Malfoy pulled his shirt over his head and his hair stood like a bird's nest… _no_ , she still couldn't stand the games, but _uniforms_ and _cool down exercises_ she could tolerate. A sheen of sweat dotted over his chest, and there was a patch of blue bruise at the centre of his ribs, and she watched him tracing the shape that definitely was from the circle of a Quaffle, his tongue poking his cheek out. He peeled his gloves off and tossed them to the floor before grasping and with both of his arms planked over the marble washing basin, proceeded to do push-ups and counting them under his breath.

 _Oh_ , Hermione _knew_ it was not polite to stare, so she turned her head back towards the ceiling, her hand to her mouth and hid her grin. And waited.


	8. stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Glad to be wanted as such." Draco chucked under her chin, and she scrunched up her nose to frown.
> 
> (Christmas during the war!trope; redeemed!draco; order!draco)

" ** _You_** left without telling me." Her eyes didn't automatically trace the lines of his shoulders, but looked towards the table, at the crimson cloth, the basin of water and the string he was currently trying to thread through the needle with only one hand. He had changed, clearly, taking into account how spotlessly un-damaged his sweater was, and as she edged closer, the smell of sweat, mud and blood were absent.

"You weren't conscious for me to tell." Was his absent reply. then she shook as she could hear, not see, him prying his flesh open, and how his calloused hands brushed against the wooden handle.

She waited until he cursed lowly, sucked on his teeth until he no longer was in need of the knife and landed it with a dull _thud_ on the table before going up to see his injury for the day. "Why don't you use a wand?"

By then, he had already closed the wound with his fingers, laid the inside of his wrist over the sponge beneath his hand. She watched without breathing as the casted hand grasped a needle, and his free hand unraveled the ball of black string. He still ignored her until he managed to pushing the string through. "It didn't feel the same as stitches." He emphasised his point by stabbing the needle in and criss-cross over his porcelain skim. "How easy it feels to heal when you got the injury by taking a few lives with you." He gave an extra hard tug so that the skin at the end of his wrist-bone pulled upwards so he could hurt more.

She ignored his annoyed grunt and took the knife from him and sniped the spare string off. "It's war. No one's innocent."

He thought she wasn't looking as she took the healing kit from him, but she saw him pull his sleeve down, as if now both of his arms bared the same abomination as his left did. "Who am I if I have no remorse? Yes, they were the enemy, but they were humans, too. They had breathed, they had lived and they were fighting for what they believed in. Who am I to proclaim the better of the species among us?" He used his free pinkie finger to trace over his sentenced limb.

She took his intact hand in hers; it was still icy from the water, laced with his own coldness towards what he had done. This was Draco Malfoy in the present day, the Draco Malfoy who had fought alongside the Order for nine months, the Draco Malfoy who had nearly let venom travel up the hand which bore his cursed signet to set himself free, the Draco Malfoy who would still gasp as she laid kisses on his bare chest too early in the mornings, the Draco Malfoy who had kissed her on the forehead that morning before taking her mission with the guilt and the nightmares that were meant for her.

This was the Draco Malfoy that kept her going, the man who he had become was the person she was desperately and delicately in love with. They could never be prepared enough to survive in that world, but he was enough for her to keep on fighting.

"I'm glad I would have a warm body next to me tonight." She would let it go for now. He would have a hard time that night, and she would be holding him through it, just as he would always do for her.

"Glad to be wanted as such." Draco chucked under her chin, and she scrunched up her nose to frown.

And then she stood over him, clasping his face in her hands, murmured, "I'm thankful I'm spending Christmas with you." before slating her lips over his.


	9. the prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You bet on our son's magical abilities for money?"
> 
> (Christmas!; scorpius malfoy!)

**_His_** grey eyes widened and so did his son's. The baby let out a giggle disguised as a shriek, and clutched his fists towards the ceiling. His father, with his mouth still slightly open, bent over and took his son from the crib before the snowflakes could reach him.

"How's my little wizard?" Draco Malfoy never cooed, or make abnormal faces but then again, he never thought he would be good with kids. Teddy's six-month-and-counting mob of blonde hair consolidated that he was indeed idolized by children around the ages of two-months to five years of age.

"Um, why is it snowing in the room?" Came the voice of his wife, the tone when she was suspicious and in an interrogating mood on whatever her husband seemed to be doing without her permission.

"You should ask our heir." He raised Scorpius up in the air so he could see his mother over his father's head, and blew a raspberry over his stomach. "He seemed to have inherited my love for wintertime, too." The baby flayed his pyjama-cladded legs about and laughed. Merlin blessed their son, he was even clapping. Draco took him back into his arms before he would get more excited and burred his face in his son's neck and watched Hermione's beam reach her lips.

"You owe me a hundred Galleons. Two months old! _Exactly_ two months old!" _Like mother, like son_ , Draco mused when Hermione reached for their son by beckoning him with her palms.

"You bet on our son's magical abilities for money?" He accused, but relented Scorpius to Hermione.

Their baby caught hold of his mother's finger and stuffed it between his gums; his eyes focused on Hermione's as he concentrated to keep the finger in his mouth.

Hermione giggled and peppered his head with kisses, "Says the heir's father who bet fifty for three months and underestimated his son altogether."

Draco took his family into his arms and pinched Hermione's nose, "At least we are winning the money back from Potter for saying five."

Hermione stuck her tongue out and brushed her fingers over her son's dark blonde hair, "And twice as much from your father, apparently."

He shrugged and pulled the onesie down from his son's back, "Well, I told him so."

His wife gave him a wink, "How does it feel to be replaced as the spoiled son in the Malfoy family, Malfoy?"

"Well, Mrs. _Malfoy_ , I don't care if my parents spoil Scorpius, as long as _his_ mother spoil me in all the ways she has perfected _well_."

"Draco! Our baby!"

He loved her for giving him a son, he loved her for blushing when he teased her, he loved her for holding onto their son like the treasure retrieved from the Black Lake, "Hermione, I will only have a few more months before I could no longer flirt with you in front of him without him glancing between us _knowingly_. Give me that much."

Hermione pulled Draco's jaw to hers and kissed him, "Fine. Place your bets, mister."

"Eight months? With a townhouse in Wales and fifty Galleons."

"A new library wing in that townhouse in Wales and sixty."

"Deal."

Scorpius looked up at his parents and beamed, as if he was in on the secret.


	10. fifty galleons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's them. She won't ever get impatient."
> 
> (auror training!trope)

" ** _I_** bet you ten Galleons."

"Come on, that's _too_ little."

"You can be a dick sometimes."

"Well, what are you betting against me then?"

"Fifty."

"Fifty? I know you're filthy rich, Harry, but fifty?"

"Yes: thirty he could cast it, and twenty for it to be a ferret."

"Fine. I'm doing fifty, too, but if I win, you're treating me lunch."

"I always treat you lunch. But, deal."

"Deal. And why isn't Hermione forcing him to actually do the spell?"

"It's them. She won't ever get impatient."

" _Pfft_. They've been in there for two hours."

"You just had breakfast, Ron."

"What? It's going to be a ferret, so why fuel the suspense?"

"It's gonna be- ha, come on, Malfoy, make me rich."

"… what? A bloody _otter_?"

" _Godric_ , why have I never thought about that?"

"Bloody hell. It's just sitting right in front of us. Damn it-"

"Wait, why is Hermione's Patronus a _dragon_ now?"


	11. how to save a life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wore the circle's armour, he was taught by the army's strongest, and he was in the princess's bedroom and her under his skin.
> 
> (knight!draco; princess!hermione; medieval au!)
> 
> [i screeched when i saw [this](https://avendell.tumblr.com/post/636771388494053376/in-the-rain) gorgeous drawing by the brilliant [avendell](https://avendell.tumblr.com) because it reminded me of this one-shot]

" ** _Good_** evening, my lady."

Hermione jumped from hovering over the parchment and her ink-soaked quill splattered over her white dress.

"Malfoy!" She wanted to come across angry, but the arched corner of his mouth whisked her annoyance away just for a split second, however, she caught the bruise along his jaw line in the next. She fought the urge to ground her teeth because she was not going to show him how much she cared.

Malfoy noticed the direction of disapproving eyes and rubbed over his chin absently. "I was distracted." He defended himself, and grumbled under his breath about weasels and red hair.

Hermione returned to her table, took the presser and rolled over the drying notes before setting the sheets of music back into the pile and at the centre of her table.

The candles around her study bounced off the bronze bedposts, the marble floors and the bronze of her hair. Gone were the intricate headdress and pins and jeweled flowers, her mane of hair was untamed, slightly damp from a bath so that the ends curled up, the rest bushy and wild. Draco moved forward, his eyes never leaving her delicate neck, the slender line of her cream shoulders, and the landscape of her body that seemed far too fragile for her own good. He glanced away before he could not stop himself and took off his gloves. "Have I disappointed you, my lady, for I had lost the match this afternoon?" He kept his head down, bowing to his superior, his ruler, his conqueror.

She hid a smile and waved a dismissive hand. "You could have done better with that trick I have spent countless mornings teaching you."

He managed a wolfish grin, "I must be sorely distracted from your every minute detail."

"You got predictable," her thumbnail scratched at her lower lip; her own tell, unconsciously betraying her, "Unfurling and clutching your fingers around the handle twice before you strike?"

"It is not a tell-tale for an un-trained eye." He commented, shrugging.

A hint of betrayal flashed across his princess's eyes, "Hm, that did not explain why you lost out to Weasley."

 _Was he going to?_ Lord Weasley was gentle, caring and he would make a better companion for her: Hermione Riddle deserved a gentle soul, not a man as himself, whose intention of courting his precious daughter was to raise in the king's court at the first place. He had thought, by infatuated with his king's daughter, surely her father would understand where his loyalty belongs: however, he got more than he thought was enough. He wore the circle's armour, he was taught by the army's strongest, and he was in the princess's bedroom and her under his skin.

Draco cleared his throat, caught her hand so their right arms aligned. "Perhaps I would like to be trained properly some more." She stared at their arms, pale against tanned skin, and her breath hitched; everything her father had taught her: _only love those who give you power; love them back and drain theirs for yourself._ This soldier, her father's ward no less, gave her power, but it was not the power King Riddle had taught her to collect: the most dangerous yet the ultimate strength: _lo_ -

Both of her hands grabbed hold of him and she pulled him down from his towering height to where their foreheads touched, the tip of their noses brushed against and where their lips could connect. It had been two fortnights too long since she had done this, since his touch and his scent erased all the doubt, the fear and the obligations she had to struggle with in order to live with the fact that she was going to take the throne as she turned twenty in a month's time.

  
Sometimes, she could not look him in the eye because it was as if his grey orbs would speculate what had she and her father done to their enemies that day, and when he moved to touch her, she would be examining the cracks of her fingers for blood that he thought might have not been washed away. _Salazar_ , if only the poor Weasley boy knew what she did in her spare time, besides training under Dolohov and Lestrange in potion making and duelling, was to sit at the high table while Tom Riddle plotted to take another kingdom and destroying even more lives. She never lifted a finger to hurt anyone, but she knew that time was near, and she already had the murder gene and his blood running through her veins.

And this boy, this brave knight-to-be, was in love with her. How foolish, how stupid, how pathetic, how cruel this must be how her own dose of salvation tasted, how her soul could be cleansed: by dragging the other's soul to hell with her.

"Are you leaving with me or not?" She spoke too quietly, but his lips moved along with her words that shot into his heart. He held on her brittle wrists and tugged her free from his hair; he could see her visibly deflate as she brought up the taboo topic that hung as thick as fog, clouding both of their judgement.

She was striking, Draco observed in awe because she was indeed a masterpiece: one long thin braid in the forest of her hair hovering over her white dress, her collarbones exposed to his eyes and his eyes only, her full mouth red from his stubble; but she was stubborn and once she had set her mind onto something, she could never let it go. "Why must you ask that of me? You know why we cannot." She could have his world and it would never be able to compete that of what she was entitled to. All he ever dared to hope for was to stand by her and within her full control to the realm in the palm of her hand.

"We _cannot_?" Suddenly, Hermione could see how her rope of redemption was slipping further from her fingers. Here he was, thinking that her plan to run away was his influence and was going to destroy her life. Her visions came in-and-out of focus as anything she had looked for was disappearing right then and there. "You are the one who refused."

"I did that for you, and I will do it until you come to your senses." _What was she doing, thinking he was capable of allowing her to give up her birthright?_

"I want you to do this for me. I am throwing away this life so we could be together." _So I do not have to bare the weight of my father's cross._

"You are going to lose _everything_." He whispered harshly, fury flaring within him. _To exchange for a flimsy future with an elopement that would put them in Riddle's way of rule?  
_

She had so much more to lose: his gentle mother and the disgrace excuse of a father who failed at their commander's order; she was giving up her crown, to all the luxury in the world he could never afford, to toy with the idea that she need not have to worry whether there would be food on the battered table, or whether she would be able to have healthy children. All he could give her was the skill upon his sword and the vow that he was hers to dictate, hers for comfort, and hers to love. No matter how he tried, he could never reach up high enough for her.

Had they not known each other since birth, Hermione would have thought Draco was once again reconsidering, but the hardness of his jawline told her otherwise. He was convincing her, convincing himself that they should not even _consider_ this. But she could never tell him why; she could never tell him she wanted to save her soul; if she did, she would not be the Hermione he was in love with, she would be the girl who was as cowardly as he had painted his own father to be, and she would become the illusion he would throw away. She knows why he was in love with her, and those were all the wrong things to be in love with her _for._

But how could she tell him, once she took her father's place, they would be nothing more? Her father would only allow the union between her and the Potter boy from the land he had set his sight upon to conquer next. A powerful joining alliance, no more talks of romance or heart. And she would not love her Draco without the promise of being his completely, body, heart and soul. This was their only chance.

"I already lost the moment I saw you, Draco." He snapped his eyes closed; he could not bear to have his name upon her lips. He could never erase it, despite the fruitless attempts to do so.

His heart twisted and surrendered, he gathered his lady, the jewel numerous suitors craved, the heir his kingdom needed to survive on, into his arms and fastened his arms around her warm body. "So we depart." They matched, he marvelled, from head to toe, from one soul to the edge of the other. But he was not going to be the man to keep her from being great.

She had her hands on his face, brushing his hair from his eyes with trembling fingers. "So you can take me as your wife." That was the only way he could have her.

"So you take me as your husband." The the only way he wanted _her_ to have _him_.

She wounded her arms around his strong shoulders to tell herself he was real. "So I could bear you blonde children."

His knees wanted to stagger back as he took the hit from something he could never have now, "So I could make our daughters princesses of our own kingdom," _With the colour of her eyes, the twitch of her lips and the mischief of her smiles_ , "And our sons the bravest knights the land has ever known."

Her ring finger that bear the weight of the Riddle ring seemed lighter already; she could be at peace at long last she was sure she was going to break into relieved sobs. "So we start our lives together."

He would remember how bright her eyes shone when she thought he was agreeing with her.

He would look back and relive how she had sagged deeper into his arms and made him feel that he was needed.

He would anticipate the fury she would unleash when she realised he was gone in the coming dawn.

"I love you." 


	12. borderline pleading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gryffindor, one last time?" he whispered, extending his arm.
> 
> (sixth year!au)

**_He_** was always reluctant, always stubbornly plead to her; his fingers would always hold on a little tighter before they had to let the trail of her hair go before it would hurt. "So early?"

"It's late." Ceremoniously tossing an absent glance at the clock that didn't tell the time they actually cared about, she was already zipping up the sweater that he had disposed onto the floor just to exposure her to him, just as he wanted for her.

"When are you leaving?" If it meant he had to beg, just one more time, he would.

"If I told you, I would have to kill you." Reflexively, she belittled the ill-timed humour and blamed it on her irrational mind.

_Maybe the reason we'd decided to play with fire was because we thought we could stop after we tasted the pain._

_Maybe that's why I had let you touch me with the heat enough to scorch, to mark, to last._

His heart thumped as she bit her lip hard enough there was blood. "Gryffindor, one last time?" he whispered, extending his arm. If only he could tell anyone later, the curse that slashed his chest open hurt so much less than this; and how he wished the spell worked, and how it felt to finally put a shadow of what her rejection had done to him because _then_ they were real.

"That's what we've always said for the last fifty times." _Fifty-eight times_ , his eyes replied, and she closed hers briefly and dragged a breath in.

_Maybe that's why I stay awake at night, under the covers long enough it becomes hard to breathe, just thinking about you and imagine how it would feel to die that way._

"Will I ever see you again?" Draco almost choked on his own breath and just like every time, pretended he was clearly his throat instead, swallowing everything he wanted to say.

_I would have done anything for you, do you know that?_

Hermione backed away, frost falling into the depth of her eyes, "See you on the other side, Slytherin."


	13. moonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name was meant to be spoken by the two people who loved her so much even before she was conceived.
> 
> (deceased!dramione)

**_The_** baby was vigorously kicking at the railings of her crib, and the creaking jerked her up.

The whisper of her son's name was chased away as his soft snores were briefly heard between the intervals of the fidgeting.

Their baby was reaching its palms up, its mouth clamped around her necklace. Her gums must be itching, and then she would have to be taught not to stomp her growing teeth onto the smooth, hard stone.

 _Her_ baby was smiling, the pink bow of her lips widening when she noticed her audience and she took the stone from her mouth and waved.

 _His_ baby was tugging on her own blonde hair, and in the middle of untangling the necklace from her, switched from her left hand to her right so that her wedding ring wouldn't catch on the curls.

Her throat was dry and her eyes were wet when she suddenly quieted down, her frail chest rising slowly and falling, her star-like eyes even brighter than the moonlight, surveying her, reading into her own soul and she had to look away.

Her husband, _somehow_ - _perhaps_ he had been feigning all this time, would chant her name over and over again until Albus would smile, too, and intertwine his own fingers around hers, as if they had known where to look for their lifelines since they were born.

The little girl's name was scrawled on the wall of _their_ room, had been a silver-lining in the shallow end of hell, her best friend's last words, then carved into her father's chest and upon her father's last wish― it was not a name meant to be spoken with gripping pain, it was not meant to be spoken with haunting ghosts.

Her name was meant to be spoken by the two people who loved her so much even before she was conceived.

She was a nomad, travelling stiffly and reluctantly from her grandparents' mansion in soft pyjamas and cotton swaddles to the warm household in tiny Weasley sweaters and patch-work pouches.

She was a delicately breathing reminder of the people they had to lose, and the people they had left behind to remember them.

She was a pardon, an apology, a chance, a choice, a secret, a reckoning, a commitment, a promise, a future, a sacrifice, a decision, a wish and a tragic ending all wrapped in one.

The baby grasped her necklace and held it up, something she was very keen on doing in the past few weeks. It was a request that pained her and everybody else who loved the little girl and had loved her parents.

She complied, brushing her thumb across the words, like a ritual. " _Hermione Granger. Draco Malfoy_." Their little girl blinked once, twice, and then blossomed a wide smile: a smile as haunting as her mother's fierce loyalty, as blazing as her father's will to protect, and she caved.

Ginny tested the name in her mind, and at the tip of her tongue, and then picking her up, sponged her name into the crown of her small head,

"You are so loved, _Eirene_."


	14. they couldn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She should have kissed him when his lips began his usual stretch into a snarl.
> 
> (battle of hogwarts!au)

**_She_** almost lost her footing, and skidded down the marble, her knees scraped raw against the rubble on her way to the landing. A bright red streak of light zapped an inch from her ear and she retaliated with a green one without missing a beat.

"You are lucky it was me, Granger." Her attacker gave out his answer in a growl and she almost rolled her eyes.

"Should we call it luck for the fact that I could have slashed your chest wide open if I hit my mark?" She held her side for the throbbing to ease, but his arm was around her waist and hauled her up.

"Do you need─"

"I'm fine." Her next inhale stuttered within her chest and she conceded, leaning against him as a moment of weakness, "It could just be bruising." Two hours never felt that long.

His jaw was controlled, but the jerk of his fingers over the blood on her forehead told her otherwise. "We are nearly there."

She should have kissed him when his lips began his usual stretch into a snarl. "I saw your parents," she grasped his branded arm by his forearm, where the sleeve of his long shirt was torn clean off. "And you shouldn't have worn my favorite shirt."

"I will sponsor you to buy as many shirts as you want," he touched his wand to her temple and stitched up a brief cut, "and let you tear them to pieces every time you take me, how's that?"

Like clockwork, like habit, she smoothed her hands down the front, along the planes of his stomach, keeping track his set of wounds, memorising the places she would lay her kisses with the opposite of what she was feeling right that moment clogged in her throat.

A figure tore through the smog and doubled back when he recognised familiar faces, "Lavender, she's hurt," He didn't even flinch with two wands flush over his heart. "I need you, Hermione."

Then Draco's hands were already unfastening the drawstrings from her bag and with a silent _Accio_ , took out a Portkey for St. Mungos and handed it over to Dean. "Twice clock-wise. Be careful, Thomas."

Dean nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and continued sprinting towards the doors.

She tried extracting herself from his arms to comply, but his hands took her shoulders and made her face him again; made the haunting world around them fade away just a little, the dizzying adrenaline lowered into a simmer, the cries of battle muffled for a fraction.

"I'd rather you help the wounded, but the second things starts to fuck up," He weaved his fingers, wand tangling in her messy braid, and tugged her forward, "You run and get back on track with the plan, you got me?" Every brush of his hands made the wound at the back of her head itch, but it was him, it was _Draco_ , and nothing else mattered then.

She nodded, her hands slipped under his shirt, feeling how his heart was pumping blood throughout his body, still going strong, still fighting, fighting with her, fighting for her, and she was more than lucky.

"Kiss me." He muttered before following swift with his own request: a hint of iron, hot breath and the lick of invitation from his tongue ignited her senses and she inhaled deeply the scent of his sweat, the faint spearmint and she did what she was told, again and again and again.

One more kiss, another whisper against his lips, "Great Hall─" She pushed away from him and they backed away from each other, close and yet getting further away.

"─I will be waiting." He finished and turned around without looking back.

They were going to make it.


	15. things you said on the phone at 4 a.m.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She still hadn't figured out when he did customize his own ringtone, so she answered it when it reached the last ring.
> 
> (after the war!trope)

**_She_** still hadn't figured out when he did customize his own ringtone, so she answered it when it reached the last ring. The phone was bulky against the softness of the mattress and the side of her cheek, but the corner of the flip phone somewhat eased the itching on the shell of her ear. "This still works."

Scatter of static with a short exhale, and she could almost hear the corner of his mouth quirk up for a millisecond, then regulated back into place. "So it seems."

"I'm in the room next to yours," Folding her arm over her stomach, she rested on her good side. "You are wasting the battery."

"You can just hang up." She heard both the headboard creak and his head brush against the wall behind her at the same time.

How awake she was hurt her head. "It's four in the morning." So did the other healing injuries, but no one was there to hold her hands to stop her scratching.

"And you are awake to pick up my call."

Her forehead rested forward on the concrete and she could feel the swing of celebration down the few flight of stairs. "I'm not used to them like this. Being so … loud. Not tense, just ― at ease, I guess."

"They won't when they wake up because the last time I checked the inventory, there were no more Sobering Potion left."

She lifted her left hand above and let the faint blueish hue of dawn coat the bandages on her hand. "So in a few more hours."

"… We won, so who's counting, really."

"The Wizengamot _would_. You _are_ one of us."

"The one thing we have decided not to talk about, Granger." At least his dry bark of a laugh hadn't changed. "I can't pretend I had meant to turn spy for the sake of contributing to the good side."

"And you did prove your worth."

"Not enough, yet. If I do empty half of the family vaults up for the rebuilding, I could only take half the years off from my father, and that does not look good for me, either."

"Well, you know where to find people to vouch for your conduct, Malfoy." She bit her tongue because she sounded so _desperate_ ; she switched to the other ear when the pressure began to irritate.

"If the Order are still using Twelve as headquarters, and they don't throw my belongings out of my uncle's room, I can remember my way."

"Somewhere else you need to be?" The hairs on the back of her neck stood, as if her bed suddenly iced over.

"My parents." His answer was clearly rehearsed; he released his lower lip, his jaw nudging his phone and made his voice wobble. "They would want to see me and have my help with the … place. Just for a week, perhaps."

"If you are kicked out, I know someone who can spare some room." Her toes brushed back and forth at the railings where _his_ legs usually rested.

"Can I request a separate room from yours, Granger," this time, she could hear his grin, "So I can continue these fellytone calls with you?" 


	16. the ten thousand women you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His grip on the quill tightened and she watched his jaw lock. "So you do accept my proposal?"
> 
> (dark!hermione; dark!dramione; riddle!rule)

" ** _I_** want to marry you," her words broke the dam, coaxed out by intoxication of his aftershave.

Her mouth snaked up from his naked back up the base of his head; she could almost see how every word left a trail of blood on his skin, like lead, like poison. "I want us to have each other at the dawn of this new era." The ears within the walls continued to listen, so she continued her lie.

"I want to hold onto you as we serve the Dark Lord and conquer the world for him. I want to help you rebuild the Malfoy house into its legacy. I want our heirs to continue the dynasty with our guidance. I want _you_ , as my husband." Her lips rested against the crook of his throat so he would feel her every word.

His grip on the quill tightened and she watched his jaw lock. "So you _do_ accept my proposal?"

"Yes, but stop hijacking _mine_." Her tongue obediently followed how he guided her, arching his neck like a bow, just the way she liked it. "I've waited for your _Yes_ for five days." His voice was gruff, a bit put-out, almost. "I have the right to accuse that against you, love." His teeth intentionally grazed his lower lip in the way that would make her state.

"Then I'm guilty as charged." One more territorial kiss and it was time for the pre-engagement gift. Reaching into his briefs she had on, she took out the letter which had cost her two nights' worth of sleep and sanity.

He inhaled, covering the rustle of the frayed parchment, and went over the angles once, smudging the ink with his thumb. Her arms wrapping over his collarbone and her nose in his hair weren't meant to seduce, but how his body froze on its way to rest against hers, he might have taken it as such.

The rigid stance of his shoulders echoed her thought: _Hope and despair, in one word stitched onto a piece of parchment._ T

he brief brush of silver against her scarred arm robbed her of breath and she followed his now bare hand as he fitted his heirloom onto her ring finger; that particular burden felt just like the gravity of a blessed talisman.

"I love you, Draco Malfoy." It came out in an intoxicated rush. "Don't ask me how, don't ask me why. I just _do_." _That feeling you get when you have ended up with something you never thought could have cradled in the palm of your hands, trembling, fearing it could get lost because you felt like you were never meant to own it at the first place: because_ she _did crave it, because_ she _did get attached, because the neatly messily heatedly compiled list of reasons why just kept growing ―_

He crushed the parchment within his palm, turned so he could fold his arms around her waist and hitched her against him. _Assurance and condemnation_ … _Such a fine, fragile, treacherous line._

"You know I would do anything, Hermione Granger," he pressed his lips to the scar on her neck, "― to prove that I love you more."

Then his smile blinded her, crippled her, and carved open the other way.


	17. spongebath (a love letter to RIDE OR DIE BY OLIVIEBLAKE)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo rolled his eyes, though, and gave her a sly wink, "Now you are just flirting."
> 
> A [_Ride or Die_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517787/chapters/19523668) by [OlivieBlake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivieblake/pseuds/olivieblake) fanfic
> 
> [i tracked my christmases with dhr one-shots]

" ** _Peppermint?_** " Hermione briefly wondering if Theodore Nott would accept the candy cane, suck on it until he had the end sharpened and stab it graciously into her eye socket.

Theo rolled his eyes, though, and gave her a sly wink, "Now you are just flirting."

She eyed the neatly lined coffee cups by the seat. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour, maybe two." Theo muttered, his long fingers unwrapping the candy; the tearing of the plastic packaging echoed in the narrow corridor, tucked away from the population stuck in the hospital for Christmas.

Hermione shifted in her feet and her right hand slipped from the pot's ledge for one moment in time—

Theo didn't pause from tying a knot with the wrapper at the base of the candy cane, "What you got there?" and his eyes followed the tiny round candy rolling away from her back.

"Um." She felt foolish for even trying to hide from Nott at the first place: he was part of Them and was remarkably observant and seemingly, as she flushed under his gleeful smirk, liked to torment anyone into admitting every unnecessary decision they have ever made. "A Christmas tree. For… every room in the hospital. I'm… making my rounds."

"I see. But," the cane popped from his mouth without taking away his grin, "I would recommend a shower before you go in."

Giving up, she rounded the tree into her stomach, turned her nose into her sleeve and sniffed. She couldn't distinguish the smell of iodoform from herself. "Do I smell?"

"Not for you," Theo waved his candy cane towards the room in circles as if he was waving a wand, "— for him. The idiot has been in surgery for half a day."

"Oh." Hermione sobered up when she was reminded that the last time she got to smell him was more than five days ago and his skin had tasted of her body wash and leather. "… how bad?"

"At least it wasn't bullets this time." Theo was treading cautiously vague, as expected, so she wasn't going to press him and overstep their evanescent acquaintance.

"Who falls with a knife in their hand?" she offered up her interpretation, tongue-in-cheek.

"Malfoy, that's who. Trying to be the angsty hero. Is your shift over?"

Hermione had to glance over her shoulder to make sure the corridor was still empty with the way Nott just nonchalantly tucked snippets of theirworld into a follow-up question back to her. The way the corner of his right eye tightened told her that was all he was going throw her.

"Yes," she knew she had to play along; the sooner she fulfilled the courtesy call with Nott, the quicker she would be able to swallow the lump in her throat and compose herself before going in, "He is my last stop."

"Great. I will wait and get you home." And he was back at the candy cane, crunching chunks off with his teeth.

It was no use arguing with Nott when he could just kick down the door and waltz out with her over his shoulder in two breaths, no answers given.

And she wasn't wearing good underwear.

"I won't be long."

With another knowing canine grin from Nott, Hermione left him in his guard duty, oddly enthusiastic and uncharacteristically cheery with his candy.

"You come with the sponge bath I requested?"

She was a sight for sour eyes: the pencil she had lodged into her bun was lopsided, spilling locks of hair messily over her shoulder and she didn't seem to notice; the top two buttons of her shirt were undone, the right collar was slightly ajar from the weight of her fancy ball pen with those ridiculous white-and-red canes… and he thought Granger was vehemently against any forms of sugar for enjoyment. The room was dark enough that her eyes seemed to flash in amber and the light from outside framed around her like a halo; Draco blamed the poetry on the itch to trace over her exposed collarbone and the morphine.

"No one is getting anything for at least—" Hermione bent down and ran her eyes down his chart. Bruised ribs and a slashed and fractured shoulder as results of a motorbike accident. Fair enough. "—two more days. Anything hurting? Irritations?"

Draco watched her subconsciously clipped her hair back with two fingers and half-rolled his eyes as he twitched below. Could he really not control how much he took almost masochistic pleasure in seeing Granger treating his injuries?

"You might need to up the drugs a notch, Doc." he suggested almost hopefully; as long as he didn't have to breathe with his sore side with a few nights of medical-induced sleep, that could be his vacation.

"No can do." Her professional frowning at the overhead monitors was close enough for him to notice the shadow casting over her features, to see her tired and pale face; she was blinking in quick intervals, her jaw moving the way when she concentrated.

And then he glanced down at what she had set down on the nightstand: "Did they run out of flowers that you got me a goddamn tree?"

Hermione bit her lip: he was not the kind of person who would want and frankly, not in the position at the moment, to celebrate the merriest of holidays. The notion of taking aside a small tree from the stock for him had be so instinctual that it made her feel silly, stupid and nerve-wrecking; it hit her stomach now, as he offered up a drunken grin and his eyes molten silver. "Sorry if the tree is pathetic and tiny and I couldn't find anything better than Smarties—"

Drugs. He blamed the inadequate drugs.

Draco heaved himself up, ignoring his stinging arm against her scrubs – damn her in that uniform, by the way—winded his fingers into her collapsing hair and tugged her down, the smell of hospital in the crook of her throat, her damp lips and her know-it-all mouth—

She tasted of tangerine, the bitter whiskey in eggnog and Christmas.


	18. steps of rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, Rowena will ask him, no—interrogate him, _why would you even take your fiancé to the back of the boulevard, where they are just begging to be mobbed, arranged or not._
> 
> (a the man from u.n.c.l.e au because tol/smol is god-tier around this parts: ron is solo; hermione is gaby; draco is illya and astoria is victoria i'm quite invested)

“Evening, _comrade_.” Godric's voice interrupts Draco's fumbling, pathetically rehearsed speech. _Good_. 

Draco still snarls under his breath, smoothing the rest of his face back into his mask. He snarls because it's Godric, and Draco just can't shake the bloody man from their tail. “We’re not supposed to be making contact in public.”

Godric clucks his tongue. “Lucius, you’re being followed.” 

Draco sees the faux nonchalance from Rowena’s face crack, splutter. She stands up rod-straight; her stocking-ed leg strays in the range of the gushing fountain, but she doesn’t notice. Her eyes dart around them, skittish; her eyelashes flutter too quickly to remain calm. 

“I know. Two men from hotel lobby." And _gods_ , of course Draco's noticed. Gray Cap and Leather are _begging_ to be caught, almost trying to tease agitation from him. "I know what they are doing here, but I don’t know what you’re doing here. I told you I don’t need your help.” On the other hand, Godric, who is lovingly adjusting the mirrors of his scooter, is fishing. Taunting Draco's temper out to play. The front of Godric’s red hair is coiled slick from his face, and he is still in his suit, the knot of his tie clenched too tightly. He looks ridiculous on his moped. “I imagine they are waiting ahead for you.” Godric continues as if his assessment is even needed. 

Draco is aware the waist of his jacket is riding up, but if he goes to smooth it back, a well-respected _man_ that he is, Godric will smirk and laugh. Rowena will roll her eyes at his _vanity_ : Draco wants to punch Godric's long, freckled nose into his skull, and Draco wants to wipe the smart from Rowena's mouth with his fingers. "I will handle them."

“Handle?” Godric repeats, rolling the word in-between his teeth, “Just to avoid any confusion, you do mean… giving your wallet and act scared?” 

“ _Scared_ , Godric?” Draco spits, his boot crunching the ground beneath him as he tries to keep his temper from flaring openly. 

“What do you think they want from us?” Rowena tugs on her earring, trying to stifle the irritation brimming forth from her collarbones. 

“You’re being tested.” Godric reveals, grandly, smugly, “Someone is trying to make sure your fiancé is really an architect. And not someone who’s trained how to fight. An Inquisition Squad agent, for example.” 

Is this man _trying_ to fail this mission? Is this sorry excuse of an agent of Dumbledore's _trying_ to get Draco's head on a platter? “I said: you’re not _needed_ here.” 

“I think you should do as he says.” Rowena's gathered herself, her shoulders drawn back. Her tone, volume high to carry over the crowded plaza, is endearing, but Draco's not fooled. But Rowena's transferred her glare from Draco, towards Godric. 

“And remember,” Godric is smirking now, “do what a meerkat would.”

Godric’s moped sputters away and Draco unceremoniously hauls Rowena to the opposite direction. Her short legs strides twice as quick, annoyance in heels. Her brand of annoyance and displeasure of _him_ , that is. She’s not as snappy with Godric as she is with him. Then, again, Rowena isn't assigned with Godric, isn't _engaged_ to Godric. 

He hurries them, fashionably idle and sight-seeing, towards the quieter streets. Draco lets his gaze travel over the rooftops, at the sparse street lamps, the _Anti_ - _Riddle_ graffiti smeared on the walls. 

The first of the bookends appear in front of them. It's Gray Cap, waiting on a hedge. Heels clicking as he taps them against the concrete. 

The other shadow, Leather, appears behind them. Draco only sensed him when Rowena inhales sharply, her hand on his arm tightening. 

"Sir, any money for a coffee?"

Draco hesitates. It's perfectly natural, with a petite and beautiful woman dressed so nicely next to him, to resort to fists before threats, but then, what? He would have just proved Godric and his superior's right: Draco is an ill-tempered man, a loose canon of an agent. Draco reaches into his suit and takes his wallet out. He hands a twenty to Leather, who thanks him—and snatches Draco's wallet from him. Then Leather crumbles the note into his fist, and tosses it over Rowena's head. Draco reaches forward, instinctually, for his wallet, but Leather takes his other hand out from his trouser pocket, and this time, Rowena speaks: "Darling, it's fine." Leather leers at Rowena's plea; still snaps the knife open.

Draco still moves to surge forward, but Rowena places a hand over his chest, her hip and leg against his thigh. "Darling." She murmurs, again. 

“Beautiful ring,” Leather drawls, twirling the pocket knife, too close to Rowena’s hair. 

“You already have the money,” Rowena says, eyes hard, but she’s leaning her weight into Draco, conscious with the proximity of the glint of blade. 

Draco stares unblinkingly into her copper eyes, framed by moonlight, and watches her lips form words: _calm down_. The way her fuller lower lip meets the upper, the bow of it flattening and then plump again. Her wrists brushing his cuffs. Her perfume, the perfume she’d begrudgingly let him show her how to apply. If he raises his arm, her hand still attached around his wrist, would he be able to smell it on her skin? 

Later, Rowena will ask him, no—interrogate him, _why would you even take your_ _fiancé_ _to the back of the boulevard, where they are just begging to be mobbed, arranged or not_. She says this, ranting, really, but all Draco can do is stare at the scratches on her knuckles, the harsh, red line on her empty ring finger from the scuffle, and the heat of her small hands over his reddened cheek. He will forget to flinch back from the burn of the antiseptic she’s applying over the cut below his eye socket. 

On his left, Gray Cap is gloating, a grin slashed across his scarred face. Draco sees his hand strike, and he lets it hit contact. 


End file.
